


Of Flowers and Flours

by lemonsorbae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baker Dean, First Kiss, Florist Castiel, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:45:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2161146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsorbae/pseuds/lemonsorbae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel owns a floral shop, Dean owns a bakery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Flowers and Flours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thekingslover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingslover/gifts).



> Welcome home Monica (thekingslover)!  
> Cross posted on [tumblr](http://jimmynovakisaved.tumblr.com/post/95043324354/of-flowers-and-flours). All flower meanings found [here](http://www.aboutflowers.com/flower-a-plant-information-and-photos/meanings-of-flowers.html).

When Dean first steps into the flower shop, he’s hit with the fresh, crisp smell of nature. The shop is quaint, lined with an array of flower arrangements, and potted plants, and dripping with color.

It’s a little overwhelming at first glance.

Rather than try to find something himself, Dean approaches the counter where an attractive brunette woman is clicking a mouse, and staring intently at her computer screen.

She holds her finger up at him when he clears his throat, and after a few moments she smiles at the screen.

"Spider solitaire," she tells Dean, her brown eyes flicking in his direction, "I won."

"Congratulations."

The woman nods. “So what can I do you for, Handsome?”

"I need some flowers for my mom. It’s her birthday tomorrow."

"Awww, how sweet," the woman’s voice is thick with sarcasm, and Dean scowls at her. "Do you know what arrangement you want?"

"No." Dean admits.

"Well how ‘bout this, Cowboy. Why don’t you look around, find something you like, and then come talk to me when you’ve done that, mkay?"

Dean stares at the brunette, irritation bubbling beneath his skin. For such a cheery shop, this employee - Meg, her name tag states - is anything but.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks for your help,  _Meg_ ,” Dean grates.

Meg’s already turned her attention back towards the computer screen, but he knows she heard him when she responds with a monotone, “Anytime, Baby Face.”

Dean shakes his head and turns from the counter, making his way deeper into the shop. As he goes, Meg’s smirking brown eyes simmer in his brain.

After what feels like forever Dean finally plucks a bouquet of roses out of a can of water and examines them. Roses are definitely cliché, and Dean doesn’t want to seem like he didn’t put thought into his mother’s gift, but all the flowers are beginning to look the same, and Dean finds himself at a loss.

With the flowers clutched in his hand Dean continues to walk throughout the shop, stopping here and there to examine other possibilities.

He’s stopped in front of a display of daffodils, considering them when a gentle, “What’s she like?” sounds from off to Dean’s side.

Dean raises his head. Just to the left of the daffodils is a man. He’s attractive (actually, no, attractive is an understatement for what this man is) with dark hair, and striking blue eyes that stand out against the cobalt blue of the vest he wears, and his stare bores into Dean calculating, curious.

"What?" Dean asks.

"Your mother; what’s she like?"

"Oh, she uh-" Dean stops and thinks about his mom for a moment, reflecting on all she’s done for him over the years, the constant rock she’s been in his life. "She’s amazing." He finally settles on, a small smile growing on his face.

"I can tell she means a lot to you," the man offers.

Dean nods, “She’s the most important woman in my life,” he admits. He isn’t sure why he’s suddenly gone all sentimental-feelings-crap on this complete stranger, but the man’s presence makes Dean feel comfortable. Like Dean could share all of his secrets and the man wouldn’t even bat an eye at them.

The man eyes the bouquet of roses in Dean’s hand and shakes his head. “Then you can’t give her roses,” he states.

Dean looks down at the roses too. “So what do you suggest-” Dean’s eyes flick to the man’s nametag, “Castiel?”

Castiel floats him a gentle smile. “Come with me,” he says. And yeah, maybe the guy seems a bit strange, but he’s offering help where Meg didn’t, and so Dean follows him to a corner of the store that holds potted flowers.

"These are orchids," Castiel tells Dean as he bends to pick up one of the pots, "they symbolize delicate beauty."

"I don’t really think of my mom as delicate," Dean points out, eyeing the flowers. They already look better than the roses Dean still has clutched in his hand, but when Dean hears delicate, he thinks  _weak_.

Castiel quirks a smile, “The delicacy is more indicative of a softness; a quiet grace. Strong, but delicately so. Does that sound more like your mother?”

"Yeah," Dean admits, "it sounds just like her." He looks at the roses once more before deciding this Castiel guy sounds like he knows what he’s talking about.

"Alright, I’ll take the white ones."

"Cymbidium," Castiel states as he bends to pick up one of the pots holding the white orchids.

"What now?" Dean asks.

"Cymbidium. It’s the type of orchid you’ve chosen."

"Sure," Dean says, still in the dark.

Castiel begins walking towards the register, and Dean follows. “Do you own a car?” Castiel asks.

"Sure do. 1967 Chevy Impala." Dean doesn’t even attempt to keep the swell of pride out of his voice.

"Much like cars, flowers have both a make, and a model. You drive a Chevy, this is an orchid. Your Chevy is an Impala, this is a cymbidium."

In just a few minutes Dean’s learning more about flowers than he ever wanted to know, but the way Castiel talks about them, like they’re just as interesting as Dean finds his car, has Dean listening intently.

He follows Castiel to the counter, trading out the bouquet of roses he’d originally picked out for the orchids Castiel suggested.

Meg has disappeared somewhere so Castiel rings Dean up, offering him a new customer discount, and even going as far as tying a complementary bow around the pot.

"Hey, thanks for your help, Castiel," Dean offers, pulling the plant off the countertop. All the irritation he felt towards Meg has long since ebbed and he’s almost grateful she didn’t offer him the help Castiel did.

"It was my pleasure…" his voice goes up at the end, a question, and Dean realizes he never introduced himself.

"Dean."

Castiel smiles. “Dean.”

When Dean walks out of the flower shop it’s with a renewed surety in his step, and bright blue eyes the color of one of the orchids Dean saw earlier, prominent in his mind.

 

A week later finds Dean at the flower shop again, this time for an employee who’s retiring. When a few of Dean’s other employees had suggested flowers for Missouri, Dean had eagerly offered to be the one to pick them out.

He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Castiel - Cas as he’d started calling him in his head - since their initial meeting at the flower shop.

"Did your mother like the orchids?" Castiel asks in greeting, intercepting Dean before he even reaches the counter.

Castiel is sans vest today, instead he’s clad in a deep green apron, the flower shop’s logo emblazoned on the front.

"Hey," Dean says, "just the guy I wanted to see. Yeah, she loved them. Her face got all glowy and shit. I think she loves that plant more than she loves me."

Castiel huffs a soft laugh and shakes his head, “I doubt that.”

A silence settles around them for a beat, Dean getting lost in Castiel’s face, his bright eyes, his perfectly angled nose, the pink of his lips. Both times Dean’s seen him, the florist’s hair has been tousled, like he couldn’t be bothered to style it after a shower, or as if he’d been running his hands through it all day. It’s a good look on him.

When Castiel’s tongue darts out and runs over his lips, Dean blinks and realizes he’s been staring.

"Sorry," he says, running a hand over his mouth, "spaced out there for a second."

Castiel frowns. “I hadn’t noticed,” he comments.

Dean doesn’t allow himself to think maybe Castiel didn’t notice because he was too busy staring back. Instead he says, “So I need some flowers for one of my employees. She’s retiring tomorrow and I’m told I absolutely have to get her flowers or else I’m the worst boss ever.” As he says it, Jo and Charlie’s voices echo through his head. They had sat him down a few days prior and told him those very words.

"You own a business?" Castiel’s voice is laced with curiosity, his eyes sparking with interest.

Dean shrugs, “Just a little bakery down town.”

Castiel’s eyes glitter. “You bake?”

"Yeah. Pies and stuff. Nothing too exciting."

"Quite the contrary, Dean. Pastries are very exciting."

Dean’s heart does a happy little pitter patter. “You like dessert?”

"I love dessert."

If there ever was an opportunity to see Castiel again, this is it. Dean may not need flowers all that often, but inviting Castiel to the bakery is definitely a viable excuse to see the florist again. “You should come in sometime. I’ll give you some free samples.”

Castiel’s smile is warm. “I’d like that, Dean.”

Dean leaves the flower shop that day with a bouquet of pink roses, “For appreciation,” Castiel tells him, and a hopeful bounce in his step.

 

Castiel visits Dean’s bakery less than a week later. It’s been a slow afternoon, and when the bell above the door chimes, Jo and Charlie both leap to their feet and race to the counter, vying for the opportunity for something to do.

Dean ignores their scuffle and continues reading Sam’s latest e-mail on how he’s doing at Stanford, but when he hears the familiar gravel of a one blue eyed florist’s voice, he whips his head towards the sound.

"Is Dean in?" he hears Castiel ask, and then he’s standing bolt upright from his chair, nearly knocking it to the ground, and rushing up to the counter. There is no way in hell he’s trusting Jo and Charlie alone with Castiel.

"Hey, Cas," Dean practically shouts, all out of breath, and cursing the blush he knows is coloring his cheeks.

Jo and Charlie’s gazes flit back and forth between Dean, and Castiel, but just as Jo opens her mouth to speak, Dean orders them to the back to sort through old recipes.

Jo sticks her tongue out at Dean, and then she and Charlie are shuffling to the kitchen with their arms linked and their heads pressed close. “He’s dreamy,” he hears Charlie mutter.

"Sorry about them," Dean offers.

"No need to apologize, Dean. I understand the trifles of working with nosey employees. I’ve got a few myself."

Dean nods and then stops, “Wait, you have a few- Cas do you  _own_  that flower shop?”

"Before you get too impressed, it was my sister’s. When she passed, she willed it to me. I’m sure I haven’t put in half the work you have in owning a business, but I do try."

Several different emotions circulate through Dean. Despite Castiel’s request for him not to be, Dean  _is_  impressed. Whether Castiel started the shop he’s running now or not, owning a business is hard work, Dean would know. He also feels sympathy for Castiel. He knows all too well what it’s like to lose someone, his dad having passed several years ago.

"So you’re carrying on her legacy, huh?" Dean asks.

Castiel nods. “I’m trying to.”

"Well I think you’re doing a great job," Dean offers sincerely.

"Thank you, Dean."

There’s a beat of silence between them before Dean remembers, Castiel came for  _dessert_. “You want something to eat? We’ve got lime cheesecake or cherry pie today. Unless you want cookies. We’ve got a ton of cookies.”

"What’s your favorite?" Castiel wonders, eyeing the desserts on display.

Dean studies him for a moment before asking, “How much time do you have?”

"I have all afternoon," Castiel replies, his eyes sparkling.

Dean’s smile is wide and resounding. “Great.” He moves for the small door that will allow Castiel behind the counter and swings it open. “C’mon back, Cas. We’re gonna make the Winchester special, Cinnamon Pecan Pie.”

 

Over the course of the next few weeks, Dean and Castiel begin seeing quite a bit of one another. Dean starts having flower arrangements, all handpicked by Castiel himself, sent to his shop to add bright, cheery decor, and Castiel stops in at the bakery at least once a week for a slice of whatever Dean’s got behind the counter. He usually has a new pot of flowers in his hands, and an explanation for why he chose them; things like, “Azaleas for abundance,” and “Irises for inspiration.”

As they get to know one another Dean becomes happy, giddy almost every time he sees that dark crop of hair, or one of Castiel’s little smiles that light up his face.

Jo and Charlie tell him he’s in love, Dean tells them to organize the bakery’s sugars.

It isn’t until Castiel shows up at the bakery one day with a box in his arms that Dean is forced to confront the fact that Charlie and Jo might be right.

He hurries through a sale with a staunchly customer, an elderly woman who’s been ordering cakes from Dean since he first opened, and as she walks out the door with a Lemon Blueberry Cake in her hands, Dean turns his attention to Castiel.

"Hey, Cas. Whatcha got there?" Dean asks, eyes flitting to the box.

"I brought you flours," Castiel states. He settles the box on the counter and looks at Dean with a happy shine in his eyes, like a proud child that’s found the perfect dandelion for their mother.

Dean looks around his shop, now bursting with color, thanks to Cas, and back at Castiel. “Well, thanks, but I think we’ve got more flowers than you do at this point.”

Castiel smiles and shakes his head and then opens the box. “Not  _my_  kind of flowers, Dean, _your_  kind of flours.”

Dean looks inside the box, understanding washing over him as he takes in the several rows of small bags of baking flours. A knot forms in his throat. They’re just a bunch of dumb baking products, but for some reason they douse Dean’s heart in gratitude and have him wanting to pull Castiel into a big, very long hug.

"Thanks, Cas." He mutters. "That’s really cool of you."

Castiel is practically glowing as Dean accepts the box.

"You wanna come back? We’re making cherry pie. I need someone to taste test for me."

Castiel nods and Dean permits him behind the counter.

When Castiel leaves that day Jo and Charlie corner Dean in his office.

"Dean, it’s time to get over yourself," Charlie states as Jo spins Dean around in his chair until he’s staring up into two very serious faces.

"What the hell, you guys. I’ve got purchasing to do."

Jo and Charlie fold their arms across their chests, like they’ve choreographed this entire confrontation, and stare down at him with don’t-fuck-with-us-Dean-Winchester written clearly in their eyes.

"Purchasing can wait. This can’t." Jo informs Dean.

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “Fine. What? And if you even tell me we’re out of butter cream frosting again because you two can’t keep your fingers out of it, I will fire you both.”

"You would never fire us," Jo counters, "but that’s not it. We wanna talk to you about Cas."

Dean tries to school his expression to something neutral. “What about him?”

Charlie holds up a yellow flower. “These are all over the shop, Dean, they’re in every arrangement Cas sends over or brings in.”

Dean eyes the flower. He’s noticed them too, but Castiel brings in flowers all the time. The difference between all the others and the yellow one Charlie’s holding now is lost on Dean.

"Dean it’s a yellow chrysanthemum," Jo offers, "we looked it up. It means  _secret admirer_.”

Dean’s brain backpedals. He wants to tell them it’s just a coincidence, but even Dean knows that would be a blatant lie. Castiel is  _always_  going on about what flowers mean. Nothing about his arrangements is frivolous; he spends hours picking out the right flowers for everything. It’s what makes him so good at what he does. Dean knows that, and obviously Charlie and Jo do too.

"So," Dean finally says.

"So he likes you, Dean. And we know you like him." Charlie states.

Dean shrugs, because he isn’t sure what else to do with his body. “‘Course I like him, Cas is a cool guy.”

Jo rolls her eyes. “Oh, don’t give us that bullshit, Winchester. You really think we’re not seeing what’s going on between you two? You. Guys. Are. In.  _Love_.”

Dean slumps back against his chair admitting defeat. It makes sense that Castiel would leave flowers to express how he was feeling towards Dean. He had once mentioned over gooey chocolate chip cookies that he spoke “flower” better than he spoke “person”.

"So what do I do?" Dean finally asks, afraid of what the girls have in mind. He wouldn’t put it past either of them to suggest Dean bake Castiel a cake and ice it with WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME like he did for tenth grade prom.

Jo squeals and claps her hands together, and Charlie beams at Dean in approval.

"Well, he likes flowers, right?" Jo says, plucking the chrysanthemum from Charlie’s hands and handing it to Dean. "So, you get the guy flowers."

 Dean studies the flower for a moment, thinking of Castiel. “Yeah,” he finally agrees, “okay.”

 

The next day Dean walks into Castiel’s flower shop about ten minutes to close. His heart is hammering in his chest, his palms clammy with anxiousness, but as he approaches the counter, Castiel’s bright blue eyes greeting him eagerly, he steels his nerves.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says around a small smile, the sight of it causing Dean’s legs to feel wobbly beneath him. Castiel’s eyes seem even brighter than usual, reflecting off the navy blue of his apron, and Dean’s stomach does a pirouette.

"Hey, Cas."

"I’ve grown used to seeing you on the other side of a counter," Castiel states, and he’s right. Castiel has been showing up at Dean’s bakery more often than Dean’s been able to find an excuse to buy flowers.

Dean swallows the tennis ball in his throat. “Well, I need some flowers and I was in the area so I thought I’d come to you this time.”

"More flowers for the bakery?" Castiel wonders.

"Uh, no. No today they’re a personal purchase."

"Who are they for?"

As cool as he’s trying to remain, Dean just  _knows_  his cheeks are flaring pink. “Someone awesome.”

Castiel nods and steps out from behind the counter, Dean’s eyes immediately moving to track Castiel’s lean frame as it’s revealed. “Alright,” Cas says, “what kind of awesome?”

"Uh," Dean shifts on his feet, "I-might-be-in-love-with-them awesome."

"Oh." Castiel’s shoulders visibly slump, disappoint marring his features.

Dean’s heart plummets to his knees at the sight. Seeing Cas feeling anything less than his usual stoic, calm self is just about the most heart wrenching thing Dean’s ever seen, and that includes the time he absolutely didn’t watch a wolf eat a baby caribou on the Discovery Channel.

"Hey, c’mon. I researched this time." Dean offers with a light smile. He reaches out a hand and lets it fall to Castiel’s shoulder, squeezing once reassuringly.

Castiel perks up marginally. “What would you like?” He asks. His mood still seems more subdued than Dean would like, but he really doesn’t blame the guy. If Dean thought Castiel was into someone other than himself, he’d be bummed out too.

"Got any yellow chrysanthemums?"

Castiel blushes and looks away, but offers Dean a nod. “Of course.”

Dean follows Castiel through the store, trying not to press into the other man as they walk. Their shoulders are close enough Dean can feel warmth radiating off of Cas’ skin, but as enticing as it is, he forces himself to keep a small distance between them.

"Secret admirer," Castiel states when they reach the chrysanthemums. He plucks a few out of their container and hands them to Dean. "So this Someone Awesome doesn’t know how you feel about them?"

Dean accepts the flowers with a shake of his head. “Not yet.”

"Alright what’s next?"

"Tulips? I need the yellow kind."

Castiel turns and heads in another direction, muttering under his breath, “Hopelessly in love.”

When Dean has what Castiel considers to be a sufficient amount of yellow tulips in hand Castiel asks what the last flower is.

"Sunflowers," Dean answers. A smile twitches at his lips, knowing they’re Castiel’s favorite, but he remains otherwise impartial.

"Adoration," Castiel breathes. What little neutrality he had left visibly leaks out of him like helium from a balloon.

In that moment Dean nearly gives himself away, unable to bear the obvious pain on Castiel’s face. Instead he simply nods and says, “Yeah.”

Castiel reluctantly hands Dean two sunflowers, and Dean holds up the bouquet of yellow for him to inspect. “What’s your professional opinion?” he asks.

"It’s very different," Castiel admits, "I’d never think to put it together myself, but because it comes from your heart, it’s beautiful."

"Thanks, Cas."

A silence settles around them, thick and full of nearly spoken words on the tips of their tongues.

Castiel is the one to break the silence. “Is that everything? It’s nearly closing time.”

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, buddy. I’ll get out of your hair."

"It’s no trouble, Dean."

Dean follows Castiel to the register, bouquet of flowers in hand, and once behind the counter Castiel hands him some paper and taffeta to wrap the flowers in.

Castiel gives him the total as Dean fumbles with the bow. “Would you like me to tie it?” he asks.

"I should probably do it, huh? It’s more special that way, right?" Dean’s gaze flicks up to meet Castiel’s and he watches as the other man swallows and nods.

"That’s right."

Dean shakily finishes off the bow and fishes his wallet out of his pocket, handing Castiel a few bills and some change.

"Alright, well. Thanks, Cas." Dean waves the bouquet in the air and turns to leave.

"Dean."

Dean turns back. “Yeah, Cas?”

Castiel is silent for a moment before he finally says, “Whoever you’re giving that bouquet to is very lucky to have your affections.”

Dean looks down at his hands, his cheeks burning once again. After a beat he looks back up and into Castiel’s eyes. “Nah. If they accept it, I’ll be the lucky one.”

Castiel nods and with one final smile Dean heads out the door.

Now all he has to do is wait.

Luckily it doesn’t take Cas long to close up the shop. Dean’s only been perched outside on the hood of his car for about ten minutes when Castiel steps outside and locks the door behind him.

Dean, with heart pounding out a nervous tattoo against his chest, watches Castiel pocket his key. As Castiel turns to face the parking lot, he catches sight of Dean almost immediately and freezes mid-step.

Dean smiles from across the parking lot at him, raising one hand in the air, and giving Castiel a small wave.

"Did you forget something?" Castiel asks as Dean comes to meet him near the door.

"Nope. I’m just waiting." Dean’s smile is wide, and he has to keep himself from bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"For what?" Castiel asks, the little vee that forms as he furrows his brow sending tingles throughout Dean’s body.

"You, Cas."

Castiel’s head cants to the side, his blue eyes contemplative.

Dean shakes his head and holds up the bouquet of flowers, bursts of yellow in the fading evening light. He holds them out to Castiel, but Castiel doesn’t take them, leaving Dean’s hand hanging awkwardly between them.

Castiel stares down at the bouquet. “I thought those were for-“

"Someone awesome," Dean finishes, " _you_. Cas, the flowers are for  _you_.”

Castiel’s gaze meets Dean’s his eyes wide and so filled with hope Dean could kiss him right then and there. “They’re for me?” he breathes out quietly, almost as if he doesn’t mean for Dean to hear the words.

"Yeah."

Castiel finally reaches out and accepts the flowers, his stare boring into them with a sense of wonder Dean didn’t expect.

"No one’s ever given me flowers before," Castiel states, looking up at Dean once more. He’s smiling, thank fuck, and his eyes are soft, grateful.

Dean shrugs, suddenly very self aware. “You said you spoke ‘flower’ better than ‘people’. I just thought I’d tell you how I feel in your language. Oh, and I got  _your_  message, thanks to Charlie and Jo.”

A smile breaks out across Castiel’s face, bigger than Dean’s ever seen. All of Dean’s insides feel like they’ve melted together to make a big bowl of mushy-love-crap soup, and he’s never felt better in his entire life.

"Secret admirer, hopelessly in love, adoration," Castiel recites.

"Did I get them right?"

Castiel nods, grabbing the lapels of Dean’s jacket and pulling him close “Dean, may I kiss you now?” he asks. His breath is warm against Dean’s mouth, his voice sending gleeful vibrations through Dean’s chest.

"Hell yeah," Dean says, and then Castiel is closing his mouth over Dean’s and kissing him with all the fervor of a built up admiration that’s been held at bay for weeks.

When they pull apart Castiel pecks Dean on the lips, softly, slowly, before resting his forehead on Dean’s and muttering, “I sunflower you, too.”


End file.
